


See What Remains

by Echo



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Codependency, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, It's not all depressing - there are happy bits too, Medical Procedures, Platonic Relationships, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo/pseuds/Echo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We are neither of us who we remember ourselves to be, Hank."</p><p>After Cuba, Charles and Hank each find themselves dealing with the results of their life-altering physical changes. Over the years, these two people who lost almost everything make a life for themselves out of what remains. It may not be perfect, but it's better than the alternative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank copes poorly, left alone in the mansion by himself. He is not alone for long.

Hank McCoy wasn't an anxious person.

No, that was a lie, he was an extremely anxious person. He had been an anxious person his entire life. Under the circumstances though, he felt that his high level of anxiety was completely justified.

Sean and Alex were three hours late.

The huge grandfather clock in the hall doled out its 9pm chimes, each one as slow and colourless as the last. Their echoes were a reminder of just how empty the mansion was when its people were away.

Hank had no way of knowing whether it was simple tardiness keeping the others away, or something more sinister. They were all fugitives now, and with Charles in no state to protect them, anything could happen.

There was a sound of a car coming down the drive. A sputtering engine and crunching gravel, sounds which should have been calming.

They weren't. It could be someone from the government, or Erik, heck, even if it was just someone lost and looking for directions, he mustn't be seen. Should he hide? Sean, Alex, even Charles could still pass as normal to a regular stranger, but blue fur and claws would make an impression on anyone.

The light was still on in the far sitting room. That was going to be a problem if he pretended the house was empty, but turning it off now would only draw more attention. It would have to stay on.

Hank ducked into the cloakroom off the main hall. It was almost pitch black in there, enough that even if someone looked right at him they'd probably just mistake him for a fur coat. The door was locked, he'd checked it a dozen times in the last hour. Everything was going to be okay. He had nothing to worry about. He just had to wait until...

The sudden pounding on the door caused his whole body to jerk in surprise.

"Get out here Hank, we need your help!"

It was Alex. Just Alex. Sounding like the world was ending. 

Hank was out in seconds, flicking on the driveway lights and flooding the area with almost painful brightness. There were no government agents to be seen, no Erik, just Sean and Hank trying to get something out of the car. 

Someone.

"Charles?" Hank choked out, darting forward to stop the other boys from doing any more damage. "Charles, you shouldn't be here, you could seriously complicate your recovery. You need to be in the hospital, where..." The professor's expression was glassy, distant, so Hank turned on Alex instead.

"What were you thinking, Alex? Charles has only just moved out of intensive care, it'll be weeks at least before he can safely leave the hospital, months even. He needs medication, he needs professional care, he needs..."

"Back off Hank, we had to get him out of that place," Alex snapped back. "You have no idea, you didn't see what was happening. It wasn't safe."

For a horrifying moment, every one of the nightmare scenarios Hank had dreamed up over the past month played out in his head. Someone had found Charles, hurt him. Someone was experimenting on him. Someone was using him to get to the rest of them.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Hank's eyes flitted to Charles' for a moment, noting the glassy gaze, the dark and unfocussed way the man stared at nothing. The boys had clearly had help getting Charles into the car. He was strapped to a firm back board, his spine supported and his movement restricted. A small mercy, that any damage from moving him would have been minimized. Even so, Charles was clearly not dressed for the freezing night air.

Hank looked back to Alex.

"We need to get him inside. It's too cold out here."

\----------------------

"Charles was in a ward with eight others," Alex explained, sitting on one of the enormous armchairs and staring at the crackling fireplace. "They all had the same symptoms. Complete numbness below the waist, and dull ache in the lower to middle back."

Hank frowned, not sure where Alex was going with this. Charles was in a hospital with a well known reputation in care for spinal injuries. He would have expected at least one or two other patients with similar symptoms. He said as much.

Alex sighed. "I don't mean similar symptoms, I mean exactly the same symptoms. They even used the same words to describe them." Alex looked more pointedly at Hank. "One of the patients originally came in for a sprained wrist. His _wrist_ , Hank. He walked in two days ago under his own power, no spinal issues at all. One of the others was the staff nurse who had been on duty when Charles was brought in." 

All at once it clicked. Hank looked over to Charles, resting peacefully now that he was settled in a warm room. He felt nauseous. Alex looked back to the fire, apparently satisfied that Hank had finally caught on, and Sean picked up the narrative.

"All the stuff they were giving him was messing with his powers, making him project his injuries onto anyone who came close enough. Plus, the doc said that even though the Prof's injury is healing really well, he was worried about all these secondary things that kept coming up. Charles should have been getting ready to transfer to rehab, but he kept having all these weird aches and pains which came and went with the patients in nearby wards."

They fell into an awkward silence for a time after this, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"We had to bring him home." Alex concluded finally, leaning forward, elbows on knees, like he was challenging Hank to disagree.

Hank didn't. He just sighed.

"We'll need to find a supplier for whatever medications he needs," he said slowly, "and I'll need to see whatever treatment plans the hospital had set up for him. We'll need to hire someone who can do Charles' physical therapy too."

Alex leaned back into the armchair. "All the paperwork is in the car. Charles did his thing on the staff before we busted him out of there, made them think they were transferring him to a private facility and had to provide all the paperwork and prescriptions. They even prepped him for transport; I think they thought the car was an ambulance. Smoothest prison break ever."

Hank nodded. "And the therapist? Someone to help Charles with rehab?"

"No."

Hank jumped at the sound of Charles' voice, husky from sleep and crackling ever so slightly from sleep.

"Charles, you're... I didn't mean to wake you."

Charles' head lolled gently to the side, greeting Hank with a woozy smile. "You didn't wake me, I assure you. But I mean it, no more outsiders. They're a risk." His eyes softened when they caught his. "It's good to see you, Hank. I missed you while I was away."

The painful lump of anxiety which had lodged itself in Hank's chest five weeks earlier and refused to leave, which had formed the moment he'd been forced to let the others take a distressed Charles to the hospital without him, all of it disintegrated so suddenly that Hank felt like he had just taken his first breath in years.

There was moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes, but didn't bother wiping it away. Instead he crouched down by Charles and took his offered hand.

"It's good to see you too, Professor."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has been learning a lot, which is good. Charles is very stealthy in his denial, which is less good.

Hank turned the page of his medical textbook to an image which, had he stumbled upon it two months ago, would have made him nauseous. Having worked through about three years' worth of student texts and reading lists since Charles had come home though, Hank wasn't sure if anything about the human body could shock him anymore.

"A good story, I hope?"

Hank started, then grinned. It still felt foreign to smile, his teeth were so much more prominent now. "Professor! You awake. You're looking more alert than last time, how do you feel?"

Charles wriggled his shoulders, then stretched his neck experimentally. "Better," he concluded, "pain levels are fine, and I don't feel as fuzzy as last time."

This was excellent news indeed. They had been trying to find a better balance of drugs for Charles for several days. It had been slow progress; the notes provided by the hospital had, for obvious reasons, not been well tailored to a telepath's brain chemistry.

"Would you like to try and sit up?"

Charles' grin matched Hank's own. "Oh yes, more than anything." 

The next part of the process was still very new to both of them, but somehow they made it work. Hank's vastly improved strength helped immensely, but they still had to take very great care not to damage the sensitive tissue of Charles' lower back.

It was worth the trouble though. Not only did the variation in position help to reduce the risk of bed sores, but simply being upright seemed to lift Charles' mood immeasurably.

Charles unlooped his arm from Hank's neck while Hank set about rearranging the pillows and cushions to maximize their support. It was minutes before Hank was satisfied, as usual, but he didn't mind the amused and knowing look that Charles gave him when he finally settled back into his own chair.

"You didn't answer my question. Good book?"

Hank faltered, glancing at the back cover of the textbook on the bedside table."It's... fine?" He ventured.

Charles' eyelids closed in an expression of contentment. "Read to me?"

Hank hesitated though. "I'm not sure, I mean, it's not really that sort of book."

Hank became aware of the soft brush of Charles' curiosity touching his mind, then withdrawing moments later. "Ah," he murmured, "that sort of book. I'm guessing you're not reading it out of idle curiosity?"

"Alex and Sean got them for me, after you said you didn't want any outsiders treating you." Hank tried to look amused, although he suspected that his new fangs just made him look more terrifying than usual. "I dare not ask how they got them, because I'm pretty sure that their methods were... Dubious in their legality. I'm almost certain that at least one university library is now short several text books, but for now I'm just not questioning where they came from. Just taking the chance to learn what I need to know to be able to... You know."

"Help me?" Charles supplied, the earlier lightness in his voice now conspicuously absent. "Hank, you are far too good a man, so much more so than I deserve. I'm so terribly sorry my friend, you shouldn't have to do this. Not for me. Not after everything that has happened."

Hank was struck dumb with surprise for almost five seconds before he countered, "No, Professor, that's not it at all! You didn't do anything wrong, I want to do this, I want to help you. I want to be _helpful_. I just..." Hank swallowed down the rest of his sentence.

"Just?" Charles prompted, eventually.

"I just don't really know what I'm doing yet." He admitted, embarrassed. "Not really, anyway. I mean, I can read all the books and papers in the world, but that's just data, isn't it? I don't have the required practical experience, I'm not a physician, I haven't been trained by someone who could correct me when I make mistakes. You know that I'll do everything I possibly can, it's just, I'm worried I'll do something wrong. Something ireversable."

Charles looked pensive, sad, tired. "Do you understand why I wanted to do without professional help from outside, Hank?"

"Because of what happened at the hospital, with you projecting your injuries?"

Charles shook his head. "It was a concern, yes, but keeping things 'in the family' wouldn't have solved that. I could just have easily projected onto you, don't you think."

Hank pursed his lips and tried again. "You were worried they might tell someone about us, give us away to the government?"

Charles wiggled his fingers by his temple, "If they had seen anything memorable enough to talk about, they would have forgotten it before they left the room."

Hank frowned. "Then what?"

Charles looked away to the window. "When they were treating me, I was a list of symptoms. Sometimes I was an interesting puzzle to solve, sometimes I was just the thing standing between them and getting home to their family." He looked back. "They were good people, Hank, you mustn't think poorly of them, but physicians are trained to maintain a distance from their patients. Especially patients as badly damaged as myself."

"You're not..." Hank tried to interrupt, but Charles silenced him with a look and a raised eyebrow.

"It's hard to want to get better when you're surrounded by that. It's hard to try. But with you, when you are helping me, you're wanting me to get better. That's what's in your heart, Hank. That why I wanted you."

"Yes, but my heart is also full of anxiety, Professor. I can't imagine that's very reassuring," he tried for 'light teasing', but he was pretty sure he wasn't fooling anyone.

Charles just looked amused. "It's a universal truth, Hank; everyone is anxious about something. You can believe me on this, I've been able to collect a lot of data over the years." At this he flicked a casual gesture towards his temple and winked. He reached out for Hank's hand, and Hank took it without thinking. "Your anxiety is for me. You worry that you're not doing your best for me, that there might be someone else who could support me better. Honestly, Hank, it helps me no end just to know that you're here for me, not because you're being paid or because the next task on your list, but because you want to see me be well again."

Being the center of someone's attention had always made Hank feel painfully self conscious. He dipped his head in case somehow his blush was visible underneath the layers of blue, but in the presence of a telepath it was probably a moot point.

"Hank?" Charles squeezed Hank's hand gently. The Professor was sounding tired again. "A compromise, perhaps? I trust you to be the talented, thoughtful genius that I know you are," Hank almost ducked his head again, but stopped at the gentle pressure on his hand, "and in return, you tell me if I am asking something of you which you genuinely don't feel you're comfortable doing so we can get someone in."

Hank blinked in surprise. "Even if they're not... One of us?"

"Of course. Hank, you must know that I don't want to cause you distress. I've already taken so much from you, and I'm still asking for more. If you tell me that you need help, then we will get someone else in."

Hank's nod was jerky and completely lacking in grace, but it was enough to cheer Charles.

"Marvelous! Now, I believe you were going to read to me?"

Hank cast his gaze back at the discarded medical text book, biting at his lip with one fang, but Charles simply chuckled.

"Something from the library perhaps? But not the book on the table by the armchair; Raven was reading that one. Best leave that one where it is so she can find it again when she comes home."

Hank didn't have the heart to contradict him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank arranges a trip to the pool. It goes well, right up until it doesn't.

After only a single, token protestation from Charles, Hank was permitted to push the wheelchair. Charles was getting much better at maneuvering the chair short distances, but outdoors on uneven ground, faced with a distinct downhill slope, they both knew it would be unwise any other way.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me not to read your mind when you insist on being so very mysterious?" Charles groused. For all the overplayed melodrama to his words Hank was pretty sure that there was some real uncertainty underneath.

"It wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you all about it in advance, would it Professor?"

He steered the chair around a well tended bed of roses. The roses were going to be a problem now that Charles had dismissed the groundskeeper. It was necessary to help keep themselves secret, but there weren't really enough of them to tend the whole grounds by themselves...

"This is the path to the swimming pool." Charles pointed out.

"Yes it is." Hank confirmed.

Charles' hands hovered an inch from the wheels, unconsciously preparing to force the chair to a stop. Hank slowed down a little, not wanting to deal friction burns if Charles actually did hit the brake.

"Whatever it is you're planning, I don't think it is a good idea."

"Actually," Hank countered, pleased to have reached the point in this conversation which he had been able to rehearse, "numerous texts describe the recooperative effects of swimming for paraplegic patients. The density of the water effectively reduces your weight, minimizing the risk of impact-related injury while exercising. In addition, many people with injuries like yours have said that swimming gives them back a freedom of movement which they missed day to day." 

Charles fingers twitched over the wheels, one of the many nervous gestures that even Hank had learned to read over recent weeks.

"I'm not sure if I'm entirely ready for this my friend. Perhaps in a few more months?"

"This is the perfect time to get started. You can build up your arm strength using the water as resistance, and if you make a mistake then you probably won't set yourself back as badly as you might normally."

"Unless that mistake is drowning..." Charles argued back halfheartedly. Hank chuckled and adjusted his grip on the chair so he could rest his left fingertips on Charles' shoulder.

"You know I would never let that happen." 

\------------------------

The water was barely up to his waist, but Charles had his arms wrapped so tightly around Hank's neck that, had there not been a substantial amount of blue fur reducing the force, he might have feared suffocation. As it was though, he simply stood, patiently trying to coax Charles into relaxing before they went deeper.

"I'm not going to drop you professor."

"I know that."

Charles didn't relax.

"And you're wearing a buoyancy vest."

"I know that too."

Charles still didn't relax.

"How many times have I carried you around the house?"

"More than I could possibly count."

"And how many times have I dropped you?"

"Not once."

"Then you can trust me not to drop you now."

"I do."

Charles didn't relax. Hank stalled. His logic didn't normally fail him so stunningly.

"Then why won't you let go?"

Charles gave out a brief burble of laughter. "Perhaps it is because I'm being wildly irrational?"

There was a moment of absolute silence, then Hank laughed out loud. Charles joined him seconds later, and soon his entire upper body was shaking with mirth.

It took several minutes for their laughter to die down completely, by which time Charles' grip had also waned. Charles did tighten his grip a little as Hank began moving again, but this time without his earlier desperation.

Hank had been in water plenty of times since his transformation. There had been the daily showers, of course, and that one time in the rain, but he had anticipated that the pool would be different. Trying to wade with all the extra bulk of his fur would have been taxing even without supporting another fully grown man. More annoyingly though, wet fur interacted with water in ways which messed with his balance.

He moved extra slowly to compensate, until he felt a nudge at the edge of his mind.

Charles.

 _Stop thinking so hard,_ came the gentle thought, _your body already knows how to compensate, but you have to let it. Try not to over think._ "

Hank was tempted to point out that it had been barely minutes since he had been telling Charles the exact opposite; to be rational when his body was telling him to panic. The sense of amused acknowledgement arrived at the edge of Hank's mind before he had the chance to open his mouth though, so he didn't mention it.

"Do you think you're ready to try floating?" Hank asked instead, the water now at chest height. "The vest will keep you afloat regardless, but I'll support your back and legs while you find your balance."

Charles clenched his jaw, and tilted his chin just enough to convey his agreement. "Fortune favors the bold, does it not?"

"The Romans certainly thought so."

Luckily, and despite his earlier panic, Charles adapted quite quickly to floating.

"I can do this." He'd said in wonder.

"Of course you can, Professor. I always knew you could."

"No, I mean... You can let me go. I can do this."

Hank hesitated. Charles was quite capable floating on his own. He'd even tried a few experimental arm movements, managing to change his orientation in the water without assistance... But this much was already further than Hank had anticipated pushing Charles today. There were plenty more days in summer, and he didn't want to endanger the progress they had already made.

Charles chuckled. "You really must think less loudly Hank. As you so eloquently pointed out before, I can trust you to save me if something goes awry... But this is something I feel I must at least try. To prove to myself that I am still capable."

Hank nodded, taking first one cautious step back, and then another. Charles remained still but afloat.

Then, what was surely an attempt to give Hank a heart attack, Charles swept his arms through the water, propelling him a good two feet in one smooth movement.

Hank scrambled to support him again, but Charles was just laughing. A happy, open laugh.

"How fabulous! It's alright, I'm alright, do not fret. Such an inspired idea Hank, you must remind me of this next time I doubt you..."

Hank could feel an elation which was certainly not his own, but he didn't care. It was contagious regardless. He took a few steps back, close enough that he could still reach his friend if something happened, but far enough away that Charles could explore his new found freedom.

Explore it he did. After only a few minutes, Charles was making a slow but steady progress through the water, propelled by his arms and an enthusiasm he eagerly shared with anyone within a hundred yards.

\------------------

At Charles request, Hank was fetching them both cool drinks when it happened. Hank had protested initially, saying that he needed to be close while Charles was rediscovering the water, but Charles had been eloquent as ever. He had pointed out that he was wearing the buoyancy vest, that he had been comfortably in control for over fifteen minutes now, and that Hank had a habit of worrying unnecessarily.

So Hank had agreed to fetch some glasses of ice water. 

_Help me._

The desperation in that thought cut a cold line straight to the pit of Hank's gut. He dropped the drinks and ran, paying no heed to the crash of glass or the spill of ice. He moved so fast that his hands grazed the ground like a cat, animalistic in a way which would normally leave Hank ashamed. It barely even registered this time.

He skidded around the corner. Charles' buoyancy vest floating, empty, on the surface of the pool.

The whole world slowed down. Hank's focus was everywhere, alert for the slightest signs of movement, of danger, but could not see the one person he was looking for.

Then he did. Curled up like a cannonball, several feet underwater, at the deepest part of the pool. Charles was still as a stone.

Before his brain had really registered what was happening, Hank was in the water. His huge arms wrapped around his friend, hooking under his arms, and then they were breaking through to the surface again.

Charles coughed, flicking water out of his hair and opening his eyes to look at Hank with some emotion Hank couldn't name. It wasn't the fear or shock he had been expecting, not even relief. It was something more like... joy?

Then it crumpled into an expression that Hank had no trouble naming: devastated.

"Professor? Are you okay? What happened? I was only gone a minute. Wait... You should breathe. You almost drowned, don't try to talk, just breathe. It'll be okay, I'll get us out of here, you just keep breathing."

Charles was boneless in his arms, so much so that Hank found himself repeatedly checking that Charles' eyes were still open, that his chest was still rising and falling. They staggered out of the water, Hank's fur streaming a small river behind them both.

It was the work of a few short moments to get Charles wrapped in one of the huge, fluffy, sun-warmed towels that they had brought down with them... But when Hank tried to set Charles down on the banana lounge to assess his friend for injuries, Charles reacted unexpectedly. He held onto Hank's neck as though for dear life, his previously even breaths suddenly turning to gulps. Charles pressed his face into Hank's shoulder, and while it was difficult to be certain given how wet they both were, Hank was alarmed at the thought that Charles might be crying.

He knew a lot about shock, he had read all about it in his studies, but there was something about what was happening right now which didn't fit. He surrepticiously ran his fingers up and down Charles' back and through his hair, checking for any bleeding or other injuries.

Giving up on the banana lounge for the moment, Hank took them both over to a nearby cast iron bench and sat with Charles in his lap. At a loss for what to do next, he tried rocking them both in what he hoped was a soothing motion. Being soothing was one of many things he had little to no experience in, so he hoped that he was doing it right.

"Professor?" Hank prompted, when Charles' breathing had finally evened out again.

Charles sighed, and the air tickled Hank's now mostly-sun-dried fur. "You must think me such a fool. I'm not certain you would be wrong."

"I don't think that," he soothed.

There was silence again for almost a minute, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Charles spoke again.

"Did I ever tell you how we met?"

Hank stilled, then carefully started checking Charles for head injuries again while he answered. "I know how we met, Charles. It was at the CIA. You were getting the tour. I showed you the plane I was building."

Charles exhaled a chuckle, sitting a little more upright. "I was speaking of Erik. He was in the ocean, trying to raise Shaw's submarine. But he couldn't do it, he was going to drown."

Hank felt an unpleasant lump of realization forming just under his sternum. Charles continued, lost in his own reminiscence.

"I dived in for him. An impulse, foolish perhaps, but... He believed he was alone. I couldn't..." Charles sighed again, leaning back into Hank's fur. "I'm so very sorry for scaring you my friend. Another foolish impulse, it seems."

"You weren't calling for me, were you Professor? When you sent for help."

"I thought perhaps, if our situations were reversed... Irrational, of course. Because he's not coming back, is he? None of them are coming back."

Instinctively, Hank pulled Charles in closer. Charles didn't resist.

"I think... Probably not. I'm sorry Professor."

The air was beginning to grow crisp with early evening. Hank had planned for them both to be back at the house by now, dressed as they were for the heat of the day, but he stayed put. He stayed, and he rocked, and didn't mention the gentle hitches of Charles breath, or the dampness where his face rested against Hank's chest.

Finally, when the first stars came out, Hank carried his pliant friend back to the house.

He would come back for the chair later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank loses control, but Charles helps to pick up some of the pieces.

It was longer than he expected (but not long enough) before he heard the sound of wheels on the ramp. Hank shifted himself a few feet further away from the doorway. He didn't know why he bothered, it wasn't going to achieve much, but it seemed like the thing to do.

The wheelchair drew to a stop just off to his left, and he could see the chair's foot rest in his peripheral vision.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this ashamed.

There was a gentle touch on his shoulder, a trail of pressure tracing down his upper arm, coaxing him into showing Charles the gash across his hand.

Or was it his paw, now?

"May I see?"

Sitting on the floor of the lab like this, back to the wall and head hanging low, he was only slightly shorter than Charles in his chair. Hank raised his arm as though he was on autopilot.

"If I asked what happened, would you tell me?" 

Hank didn't look up. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment in Charles' eyes. "I was working on something. I cut myself."

Charles chuckled gently, which Hank found off-putting. "I was hoping for something slightly more specific. Do I need to worry about chemicals? Biological contamination? Were you working with anything I need to be concerned about while I clean this?"

Hank closed his eyes and let his head thunk back against the wall.

"I was working with sheet metal. Low risk of contamination."

Charles hummed, gave him a quick shoulder squeeze, then started to move away. There was a spike of something unpleasant in Hank's chest, something like resentment or betrayal, but he quashed it immediately. This was his own damn mess, Charles didn't owe him anything. When Charles returned a few seconds later with a first aid kit though, Hank couldn't quite find it in himself to quash his relief.

"What brought this on, if I may ask?" Charles was perfectly gentle in his manner, picking up Hank's arm and laying it in his lap.

"I cut my hand."

"That much I can already see. But what brought all of this on?" Charles gestured to the rest of the room.

It was chaos. Tables overturned, papers scattered across every surface, and most tellingly, deep, claw shaped welts scratched into the walls. All the signs of an out of control beast.

Hank wished he could disappear.

There was a smell of iodine, and Charles uncurled Hank's fingers from the fist they had formed. "This might sting."

Hank supposed it did sting, but the sensation didn't quite register the way it normally did. _Disassociation_ , his analytical brain provided. Not that having the word made much of a difference to anything.

"I might need to trim back some of your hair before I dress this, Hank. If some stray strands make their way into the open wound then it will take longer to heal, or also encourage infection."

Hank exhaled a noisy huff of air. He wondered if it sounded to Charles more like a laugh or a threat... Several species of big cat huffed like that as a warning to other animals. 

Hank let his shoulders droop. The last thing he wanted to do was make Charles feel threatened.

"Hank? Something is clearly troubling you. Please tell me?"

Even through the exhaustion, there was still a tiny, flickering flame of anger which refused to be extinguished. It was a volatile flame.

"Why don't you just look?"

Charles' once again rested his hand on Hank's shoulder, middle and forefingers stroking lightly at the softer hair of his neck. Without consciously intending to, Hank leaned into the touch.

"I fear that would help me more than it would help you." Charles murmured. Hank's eyes drifted closed again. He was so tired.

"I thought the same thing as you. When I noticed that I had cut myself and that there was..." Fur? That's not what Charles had called it. "hair, in the wound. I thought I would need to trim it, so I tried to find some shears, but I couldn't, and then..." He trailed off.

"You got angry at needing them in the first place?"

Hank nodded.

"You gave Sean quite a fright, you know? After you missed dinner he offered to bring something down for you. I suppose he caught you... Redecorating."

Hank felt mortified. Sean was just a kid, Hank knew full well that should be acting as a role model, not damaging property and scaring him like some sort of monster.

The cold of the first aid shears tingled flat on his arm. He heard the 'snick' but didn't look. He didn't need to see the blue hairs float to the ground.

"He came to get me. He was worried about you." Charles continued as though nothing had happened. "He cares about you, Hank, we all do. You're not alone. You don't need to be alone any more."

Hank stared at the floor. There was a long black mark, left by something being pushed far too forcefully across the floor.

"Is this the part where you tell me that I should be happy about what I am now? That this is the 'true me' and I need to love it? That blue is beautiful?" He asked.

Charles' hand stilled on Hank's arm, just above the top of the cut. "Is that what you need to hear from me?"

That tiny light of anger flared again, burning up and through his exhaustion. He yanked his arm back from Charles, cradling it like it was broken.

"Do you want to know what I need? What I _need_ is to be able to recognize myself in a mirror! All I hear over and over again from everyone is that this is the 'true me', but you know what? The true me is pale and has no muscle worth mentioning and brown hair that always flops in my eyes but at least it had the decency to stay on my head where it belonged." 

As quickly as his anger had flared, it was extinguished again. "How am I supposed to be proud of who I am if I still feel like a completely different person?" He felt like a match that had burned to the nib, black and shriveled and useless. He wanted Charles to stay, to tell him beautiful lies about how everything would get better. He wanted Charles to leave, to stop looking at him when he was so broken. He wanted to be better. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to stop wanting things.

He wanted to sleep.

"We are neither of us who we remember ourselves to be, Hank." Charles said, slow and soft. "In honesty, not a single morning has gone by for me since the accident without, for a fraction of a second before I am fully awake, believing that I am still able to walk. Then I remember. And every single day it hurts anew."

"No, Professor, that's not... You mustn't. Please, don't compare my mistake to what happened to you. You tried to make the world a better place, and the world punished you for it. It was a terrible injustice, you have every right..." He sighed. 

"And you believe that you do not?" Charles prompted carefully.

"This? This was self inflicted. This is what I deserve. It's... Equilibrium." The silence around them was thick and heavy. Brutal honesty tended to do that.

He felt something at the edge of his consciousness, and he wished he was strong enough to say 'no', but he couldn't. There were no words to the contact, just a sensation of care and safety. Hank found himself breathing slower, deeper.

"The universe is rarely known for giving people what they deserve, Henry. You are a good person, one of the best I've ever known, and you deserve so much goodness in your life." 

Charles brushed slow fingers over the cottony blue fur on the back of Hank's head. After a few moments, Hank leaned in to rest against Charles' knee.

"What has happened to you is no more a punishment from on high than my injury was a punishment for me. The only person punishing you, I believe, is you." 

Hank tried to shake his head. Charles just kept stroking. "You and I are both learning what it means to exist in a body that no longer feels like it fits us. It will take time, but I believe that one day I will wake up in the morning and the knowledge of my injury will not come as a surprise. This is something I _believe_ , but Hank, I _know_ that one day your new form will feel as right for you as your old form once did. I am quite certain this will happen. You only need to learn to be gentle with yourself in the mean time."

Charles' words washed over Hank like a lazy tide. He was tired. He was ready to sleep.

He should really clean up the mess he made in the lab.

Charles laughed, an warm yet airy sound, but it still sounded shocking against the quiet. "The lab can wait until morning, my friend. May I finish wrapping your hand? Then I agree with you that it is time to rest."

Hank nodded, and a few minutes later his hand and forearm were safely ensconced in a stark white bandage. It seemed to glow against the blue.

"Would you push my chair, Hank? The ramps always seem much steeper in the incline than they do on the decline."

Hank nodded, steering Charles out of the lab, through the living areas, and down the hallway to his bedroom. His body running on auto-pilot, he gathered Charles' sleeping clothes, refilled his bedside water cup from the en suite tap, and turned down the bed. When he looked back at Charles, all he saw was amused affection... And warmth.

Charles raised his arms in a gesture which had become very familiar over recent weeks. Hank stepped over, supporting Charles legs and back as the man wrapped his own arms around Hank's neck, then very gently lifted him from the chair and deposited him on the bed.

"Thank you, Hank." Charles murmured, his mouth so close to Hank's ear that anything louder would have been uncomfortable. Hank offered a wan smile.

"You don't need to thank me for that." He replied, honestly. "It feels better, when I help."

"You know, that pale boy with the brown hair could never have lifted me so easily."

Hank exhaled slowly. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Sleep well, my friend."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is learning to be independent again, and has a proposal for Hank.

Hank was pretty sure he was blushing.

He was also pretty sure that no one could tell. One of those rare benefits of having fur was that it didn't change colour just because blood was rushing to his face.

But that was hardly the point. The point was that he shouldn't be blushing at all.

In the months since Charles had first come home to the mansion, Hank had helped him with many things. Intense, uncomfortable, personal things. If anything was going to have made him blush then those things ought to have done it, but they didn't.

Those things had been just fine, because had read the relevant material. He knew the correct steps to take to help Charles bathe, toilet, dress. He was simply executing on those things to help his friend. He'd never had cause to be embarrassed.

Yet here he was, trying to teach Charles how to perform those tasks independently, and blushing like a nervous teenager.

Quite honestly, it was ridiculous.

"Perhaps I could just...?" Charles suggested, wriggling his fingers next to his temple. "Rather than have you explain it all?"

And in that moment, clarity hit Hank like a cannon ball. _Charles was blushing too._ Even with all his decades of practice controlling his abilities, strong emotions still tended to leak from Charles' mind, and it seemed that the more time they spent in one another's presence, the more attuned Hank had become to Charles' moods.

Hank wasn't the source of the embarrassment, he was experiencing it second hand.

He couldn't help but feel sympathetic. He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "I trust you, Professor, you don't need to ask permission to look in my head. If you think looking will help, then you should go ahead."

Charles' answer came in the form of a relieved exhale, then Hank felt the familiar brush of Charles' thoughts on his own. Charles could be more discreet, of course, so subtle that even the most attentive person would never know he had visited, but there was no such need today.

Hank still found the experience eerie, but also oddly calming. A few seconds later, (or maybe it was minutes, it was sometimes hard to tell,) Charles was done. 

"I can do all of those things." Charles said, his cheeks still flushing pink. Hank nodded.

"You'll need to practice a few times before you can transition to being fully self-managed, but I can... Ah... Help. With that." And now he was tripping over his words too. Perfect. 

Charles nodded, then dipped his head with a quiet chuckle.

"I'm sorry my friend, I suspect that may be my fault, not yours." He said, answering Hank's thoughts rather than his words. "There is not much which comes as cause to embarrass me these days, but it seems that the intricacies of my bladder management plan might just suffice."

Hank's blush made a sudden and dramatic reappearance, but this time he was pretty sure he had only himself to blame. "I understand, Professor. All of this, it's very personal. I'm... Honoured, that you trust me to do this."

Charles laughed. "You have a very skewed idea of what constitutes an honour, my friend."

Yep, definitely not a second hand blush this time.

After a while, Charles quieted to a thoughtful gaze.

"You know Hank, before I met you I always considered myself to be quite clever. I had my PhD, I was ready for a career in research or possibly teaching, but you finished your tertiary studies at what, fifteen?"

Hank nodded, suddenly unsure where the conversation was going.

"And then the CIA, designing planes, building machines which stretch the capabilities of the human mind..." Charles looked almost fond, much to Hank's confusion. "And even with all that, you were holding back, weren't you? You could have graduated earlier, built more, achieved more, if you thought they'd let you. Or if you thought it would be safe for you."

"Professor, I'm not sure what you're trying to say..."

Charles took Hank's hand, leaning in closer, his eyes bright with insight.

"Hank, you took a handful of stolen medical textbooks and journals, and taught yourself in a few months what it takes specialists six or more years of dedicated study to learn."

Hank relaxed a little at that. At least he understood what was happening now. "It's hardly comparable, Professor. I was focusing specifically on the skills I needed to be able to help you. A real medical student would have to learn so much more. And they would be working on other things too, things like bedside manner and professional ethics, other practical stuff. Really, I only know a tiny fraction of what a true professional would know."

Charles let go of Hank's hand with a quick squeeze and leaned back, watching Hank with a strange sort of melancholy. Hank self-consciously adjusted his posture, sitting a little more upright in his chair.

"Tell me, Hank, before you met me, before everything that happened... What did you want to do with your life?"

Hank tensed. He was pretty sure he wasn't far enough into his psychology textbook to deal with these kinds of conversations yet. Lost opportunities and the grief which came with them were important touch points for people who had suffered life-altering injuries, but that sort of emotional stuff was a lot harder to learn from textbooks than safe chair transfer techniques or strategies for preventing pressure sores .

"I don't know," he lied, "I never really thought about it. Whatever came my way, I suppose."

Charles raised an eyebrow, then his expression softened. "You've never struck me as the 'fly-by-night' type, Hank. I'm not as fragile as you might think, you can tell me."

Hank looked down at the floor, at his huge blue feet, and shrugged. "I suppose I thought that if I could find some way to hide my mutation, maybe I could have worked on the space program. I don't think I would ever have qualified to actually go to the moon of course," he added quickly, "but I could have worked on the computer systems. Maybe even one of the rockets." He gestured towards himself with one hand and a self-deprecating smile. "I'm pretty sure I'm ineligible now though."

Charles tilted his head to the side thoughtfully.

"You would make a fabulous astronaut, Hank... Don't discount the possibility that you may yet do so."

Hank gave a self-deprecating huff of a laugh. "I don't think they'd let me as far as the public tour group, looking like this."

"For now, perhaps, but that won't be the case for ever. You mustn't dismiss your dreams Hank, you are still so young. You have so much life still to live."

Hank looked up, making a valiant attempt at eye contact. Charles obviously needed him to be okay with this, although he couldn't really imagine why. "I suppose it's always possible," he acknowledged. It was another lie, but Charles didn't argue the point.

"Until that time though, how would you feel about studying medicine?" Charles leaned forward again. "Officially, a formal qualification. It won't be long before we can start taking students, and given their unusual gifts, it's likely they will have some very unique medical needs. We'll need someone on staff who is suitably qualified... It's not quite visiting space, but perhaps it would be something to keep your mind engaged while you wait for that chance?"

Hank blinked, slowly, then furrowed his brow.

"Charles, I can't leave this house. If I tried, I'd probably end up in a private zoo somewhere with a name plaque saying 'Bigfoot'. How on Earth would I get to a university, let alone get a formal qualification in medicine?"

Charles looked positively delighted by the question, as though simply asking was equivalent to agreement. "You could study by correspondence, of course! You have already demonstrated that you hardly need a teacher to support you."

Hank shook his head disbelievingly. "And what about the practical components? How could I ever complete a residency?"

"Well we may have to falsify one or two things, but I'm sure that wouldn't be too troublesome." Charles wiggled his fingers near his temples once more, this time with some definite cunning in his smile. Hank laughed, and it felt unexpectedly easy.

"I'm not sure if it still counts as an official qualification if you make all my teachers think I passed without even showing up."

Charles put on a very earnest and sincere expression. "You only think that because you are a very honest and responsible young man. In this at least, perhaps a small amount of deceit could be forgiven?" Then he cracked into a mischievous grin. "Will you consider it?"

Hank leaned back in his chair, working very hard to keep a straight face and failing. "Alright, I'll consider it. But only if you stop trying to distract me from working with you on your personal care management plans."

"Ah, you noticed that then?" Charles dipped his head, but did so with an amused smile.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are, Professor."

Charles nodded, but he had a twinkle in his eyes which was all too often absent these days. "By all means then, let us move on to my next bodily function."

Hank wondered if any of that twinkle was reflected in his own eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The school starts to get students. Hank finds this more difficult to deal with than he had anticipated.

The sky was glowing a dusty pink, the oranges and yellows having all but gone. It was getting dark earlier these days, not that Hank minded. The dark just held a different kind of monster.

"I wondered if I might find you here." Charles said as his wheels crunched over the gravel. Hank had offered to build something with a hover capability a few times now, but Charles had always stressed the need to spend all their efforts on improving the facilities for the school.

"Just enjoying the sunset, Professor." Hank answered. 

Charles rolled to a stop next to the large, smooth stone he was sitting cross-legged on. "I might need to start calling you 'Professor' too now Hank, given that we both have students now."

Hank glanced over, gave up a half-smile. "I'm pretty sure that would just confuse everyone." Charles tipped his head in agreement.

"We missed you this afternoon."

Hank looked back at the sky. There had been two new students starting at the school that day, an eleven year old boy and his six year old sister. Six was really much younger than they were equipped to handle, but her older brother had insisted... And their parents had been all too desperate to see them both somewhere they would be safe.

"They sound like good kids." Hank replied noncommittally. Charles bumped Hank's shoulder with his own.

"They would have liked to meet you."

Hank shrugged. "I didn't want to frighten them. They would have already been overwhelmed, arriving at the mansion for the first time. Having me there would have made it worse."

Charles didn't say anything for quite some time, just watched him. If it had been anyone else Hank would have felt self-conscious, but not with Charles. They were too familiar for that. Eventually Charles looked back out over the lake.

"Sophia has scales over half of her body, like a chameleon's. They change colour based on her surroundings."

"Adaptive camouflage?" Hank asked, his scientific curiosity piqued. "How rapidly is she able to adapt to the environment?"

Charles chuckled. "Perhaps you should ask her that, rather than me. But ask gently, she's terribly shy." Charles leaned back in his chair, looking out at the sky with Hank. "Her greatest fear, coming here, was that even in this place meant for unusual children, she would be rejected for being too different."

Hank considered the sentence, and felt his heart sink.

"You wanted her to meet me so that she would know there was someone here who was even more of a freak than she was."

"No one here is a freak, Hank," chided Charles gently, "I wanted you there because I had hoped you could show her that she needn't be alone in being different."

"I'll... Be sure to meet her tomorrow." Hank acquiesced.

"I'm sure she would appreciate that." Charles gave Hank a sidelong glance which Hank studiously ignored. "I can offer these children a home, Hank. A safe place, an environment for learning... But you can offer them something equally important that I could never provide."

Hank raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Charles smiled warmly. "You can give them hope, Hank. Hope that looking different is something they won't have to be ashamed of any more. Hope that they can find a place for themselves in the world, just as you have done here."

Hank gave Charles a wry look. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to teach them that Charles." He leaned back on the grass. "I not really sure I believe it myself."

The last hints of the sun dipped below the horizon. Hank watched them go, refrained from blinking until only sky and clouds remained.

"Then don't be the teacher, my friend, be the student. Let the children teach you."

Hank watched Charles, a silhouette now in front of a rapidly darkening sky.

"I'll try, Professor. I am trying."

"I know, Hank. And even if you don't believe in yourself yet, at least know that I believe in you."

Hank nodded.

"I think it might come on to rain soon." Charles mused. Hank couldn't help but smile at the non-sequitur.

"You're probably right."

They stayed until small spits of rain started to catch on their hair, then made their way back to the house.

\--------------------

At first, Hank wasn't sure what had woken him. The thunderstorm was certainly loud, but not unusually so. Out of habit he checked the bedside clock, but the alarm hadn't gone off. It wasn't time to help Charles turn in his bed, and even if the time had been right he wouldn't have gone anyway. Charles was managing that by himself now, without Hank's assistance. 

Then the tapping on his door came again, and soft words carried under the door.

"Mr McCoy?"

Hank blinked several times, rubbed at his face to wake himself, and rolled out of bed. Slipping into the waiting dressing gown and slippers, he went to attend to the small voice.

It was Sophia, the little girl with the adaptive camouflage. Her feet were bare, she was dressed in a summer nightie, and she had quite clearly been crying. 

Given his size it was almost impossible to get down to her eye level, but the younger children always seemed to appreciate the effort. He crouched.

"Did the storm wake you, little one?" He asked softly. Hank was even more awkward around children than he was with adults, heaven only knew why Charles thought having him at a school was a logical choice... But being woken by the storm was a fairly safe bet. She certainly wouldn't have been the first mutant child to be scared by loud noises in the dark.

Sophia nodded, then raised her arms up towards Hank's neck. As always, his first thought was of Charles, of needing to help him in and out of the chair before his mentor had learned proper transfer techniques. Even here though, the gesture meant the same thing: _Up_

At first the children had gone to Charles for this sort of comfort, and Hank could understand that. Charles was inherently a comforting sort of person. But for no accountable reason, some of the children had taken to him. When Hank had asked Charles, he had made some comment about blue teddy bears. Hank had looked at him disapprovingly, for all the good it had done.

Leaning forward, Hank obliged the little girl, scooping her up with one arm and standing. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her nose into his neck as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Come along then. The storm won't be able to get to us inside the house, let's get you back to bed."

Her room was not far, possibly another reason she had sought him out over Charles. He put her on her bed, coaxed her into letting him go, then sat beside her.

In the dark of the room, the parts of her skin which weren't a normal human pink colour had shifted to an almost pitch black. Camouflage at its finest. At first glance, she looked like half of her body was missing, which had initially been quite alarming. It still caught Hank by surprise sometimes. And sometimes it reminded him of Raven. He didn't like those times so much.

"I think there might be a monster in my room." Sophia said in a small voice. Her eyes were big and dark and completely earnest. Hank smiled his most sympathetic smile, making sure to keep his teeth from showing. Even he knew that fangs were nightmare fuel.

"I'm sure that's not the case."

"How do you know? You haven't even checked."

He had to admire her early attempts at logic.

"You make a very valid point, little one. I'll check now. Where do you think a monster would try to hide, if it were living in your room?"

Sophia pointed out various places; the cupboard in her bedside table, the dresser, the notorious under-the-bed. Hank dutifully checked each of these places, then when she had exhausted all of her options, went to sit with her on the bed. She tucked her feet under the bedspread and wriggled her toes.

"Mr McCoy, can I ask you a question?"

Hank nodded. Sophia took a deep breath.

"Are you a kind of monster? Is that how you knew there were no monsters in this room?"

Hank felt discomfort spike from his stomach to his heart, then spread out to all of his extremities. He looked down at his hands, not wanting to upset the little girl with her innocent question. Because it was a fair question, really. It was a question he had asked himself several thousand times. A question the entire world would ask him, if they ever learned of his existence. So he steeled himself, made himself look as non-threatening as he could, and answered it.

"No, little one. I'm not a monster. I would never hurt you, or try to scare you. I'm a mutant, and there's nothing wrong with that."

Sophia nodded, like this was the answer she had expected all along. Then she picked up the edge of the bed sheet and started twisting it between her fingers.

"What about me? Am I a monster?"

Just like that, all the air disappeared from Hank's lungs. For a fraction of a second it was Raven sitting with him, and he was saying some hurtful to her about how they would never be considered beautiful, and then it was over and he was sitting with a frightened, lonely little girl again.

"No, little one. You are not a monster at all, I am very certain. I know a lot about monsters, so I would know. You are a thoughtful and clever and very beautiful young lady. Don't ever let anyone make you believe otherwise."

Sophia looked at him for several seconds like she was evaluating him, then nodded.

"Okay." She said, matter of fact, and reached up for another hug. Hank obliged, careful as ever not to let his strength hurt her.

Later that night, when Sophia was fast asleep and Hank had made his way back to his room, he lay awake in his own bed.

Unable to sleep, he instead listened to the sounds of the storm until the first rays of dawn appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter has lots more angsty Charles, I promise. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Hank and Charles find themselves betrayed by their own sympathetic nervous systems, and Charles finds out the problem with illusions.

Charles was visibly not well.

His skin was flushed, with beads of sweat threatening to overwhelm his forehead. Hank could feel the anxiety in the room, and not just from the huddle of worried children who were still filing out of the room at his instruction.

He knelt by Charles' chair, reaching for the emotional calm that all his books had insisted would come with being a medical professional.

"Professor? Charles? Can you tell me what's going on?"

Charles reached our, trying to catch Hank's hand. Hank helped, catching his errant wrist and pressing two fingers over the pulse point to count the beats.

They were coming far too fast.

He let go of Charles' wrist, rearranging his hand so that their fingers were interlaced, and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Professor, I think this is AD again. Do you remember, you had a much milder incident a few months ago. It's okay, you're going to be fine. You're experiencing some sort of pain below the site of your injury, and that's triggered a sympathetic nervous system reaction."

Charles nodded his head very slightly, pressing his lips into a thin line. Hank squeezed his hand again to refocus his attention.

"Try to remember the checklist of common causes we talked through last time. Can you think of anything which might have triggered this?"

Charles hesitated, but not in consideration of the question as Hank might have expected. It was more like he was steeling himself for some terrible confession.

"I have a bedsore, on my hip. The place where it rubs on the chair." He said, eventually.

Some of Hank's tension drained away. This was something he knew how to deal with. He gave Charles an encouraging smile.

"That's okay, we can deal with that. Try doing a lift in your chair, that should help to relieve the pressure."

Charles looked away. "I fear it may have progressed too far for that strategy."

That was a surprise. Pressure sores could certainly develop in quite a short time, but shifting position should have helped in most cases. "Maybe I could move you to the sofa for a little while then? Not as many hard surfaces to press against. How far progressed is it, exactly?"

Charles seemed to wither. If it weren't for the anxious finger tapping on the arm of the chair, Hank might have thought his friend was falling asleep. This was making less and less sense.

Hank ran his hand up and down Charles' upper arm, trying to prompt some sort of response. Eventually Charles sighed.

It sounded like a surrender.

"I first noticed a few days ago. There's a blister, it's... Not small."

Hank furrowed his brow. "Sores are serious, Professor, it's not safe to ignore them. You should have told me."

"I had it under control." Snapped Charles, then more apologetically added, "I didn't want to worry you".

Hank didn't point out that triggering an attack of AD was pretty conclusive evidence that it wasn't under control, and was far more worrying in the grand scheme of things than hearing about a pressure sore. Charles wasn't an idiot, he would already know both of those things. Instead, Hank nodded, withholding a sigh.

"Okay, well if it's that far progressed then we will need to take care of it right away, along with the AD. Let's get you up to your room."

Charles didn't respond until Hank moved to lift him from his chair, at which point he grabbed at his wheels and jerked the chair back.

"I can get there myself," he snapped again. Hank backed away. He was confused, but he had no desire to upset his mentor and friend any further.

"Charles, you know that right now the chair is just making the problem worse. I promise I will come back for it as soon as you're settled, but for now it's probably better if you let me carry you..." Then a thought occurred. When the children had first come to fetch him, to let him know that something was wrong with their Professor, he had been so concerned for Charles that he had forgotten to dismiss the small audience of students for far too long. Charles had clearly been embarrassed by the whole scenario, which had left Hank feeling painfully guilty. "I told the children to stay in the library until the end of the scheduled class time, another twenty minutes at least. No one need know but you and me."

He could see the muscles in Charles' jaw clenching, could feel the tension in the room. He was almost at the point of asking again when Charles gave a curt little nod.

Hank's relief was palpable.

\------------------

Hank pulled the sheets up to Charles' waist, covering the unnatural whiteness of the dressing on his hip. Partial nudity had become almost a non-issue for the two of them in the year or more that Hank had been Charles' primary carer, but the house was cold. For all that Charles could not feel the temperature on his bare legs, it was important that they be kept warm. Doubly so now that the skin was damaged. 

"I'll go down and get the chair in a minute," he reassured, "but it's probably best if you don't use it for the next few days. This is quite severe, and if you aggravate it any more we'll probably need to take you to the a hospital."

Charles exhaled loudly. "And what, pray tell, am I supposed to do instead?" His back was to Hank, but he didn't need to see Charles' face to hear the anger in the tone.

Hank had problems with anger.

That animalistic part of his hind brain perked up in the presence of other people's anger like Pavlov's dogs at the sound of a bell, making it that much harder to keep himself under control.

Hoping to diffuse the situation, Hank offered, "There are a few options. And after a few days I'm sure..."

"Perhaps you'd suggest that I invite the students into my bedroom, teach from my bed? Or even better, I could drag myself around the floor on my elbows. That would make an amusing anecdote for the children."

Hank stepped back, fighting the urge to reach out and touch his friend. He wasn't sure if it would be welcome, but more importantly, he was worried about his temper. His control was improving, better than he had thought possible initially, but when things went wrong they went wrong quickly. He didn't want to add any unnecessary risk.

"I can help you around the house any time you need it, you know that. Or Alex, if you'd rather. I'm sure he'd..."

"Enough, Hank." The words had a sharp, grating finality to them.

"Charles, I don't understand..."

"What precisely is it that's eluding you, McCoy? Enough. You can go. Leave me be. You're not needed here any longer." Charles looked back at him over his shoulder and enunciated very clearly, "Piss. Off."

Hank grated his teeth together, squeezed his eyes shut, tried slowing his breathing... But the challenge had been made. His sympathetic nervous system was singing with adrenaline, preparing that primitive part of him to fight.

He was already too far gone to be safe around people.

With slow, controlled steps, he backed out of the room, walked to the front door, then down the front steps. He made it to the gravel walkway before the suppressed growl made it out of his chest, and then he was running.

Hard, fast, leaning further and further into the wind until his knuckles were scraping the gravel, then he was loping through the grounds like a hungry wolf which had spied its prey.

It was almost twilight by the time he had burned off enough energy to come back to himself. He lumbered back to the mansion, muscles protesting their fatigue.

He arrived back to a raised eyebrow from Alex and instructions that dinner was going to be served soon. Hank nodded, with no intention of following up on the invitation. Instead, he went to collect Charles' chair and return it to his room as promised.

Charles was lying still in the bed when Hank dropped off the chair. Hank suspected the man was only feigning sleep, but didn't mention it.

He didn't think he could cope with another run in with the Beast just yet.

\-------------------

Hank didn't actually need to be in the workshop for this part of his project. He was still firmly in the pencil and paper phase of development, and there were dozens of places in the house which were warmer or closer to everyone else.

Right now though, the distance was calming. He needed calm. People generally did not interrupt Hank when he was here for anything less than an emergency. It was useful.

"Might I interrupt?"

Hank nearly jumped out of his chair at the sound of Charles' voice. His heart rate jumped to about a million miles a minute as he spun around.

Charles was standing in the lab. Actually standing. No chair. It took longer for Hank to process that than it should have.

"You're projecting." He said, redundantly. Charles nodded, smiled in a way that didn't reach his eyes. Hank wondered if it was particularly hard for telepaths to get their eyes to look right in projections.

"I'm sorry for startling you. I came because, well. I owe you an apology."

Hank opened his mouth to protest, to explain that he understood Charles' anger and frustration, but Charles raised his hand. Hank closed his mouth again obligingly.

"I lost my temper. Those things I said, how I acted, it was completely uncalled for. You have helped me tirelessly, and you deserve better than that. I am so very sorry. Would it be presumptuous of me to beg forgiveness?"

Hank felt a tension he hadn't realized he was holding release. It came as a huge relief, which made itself known through his smile.

"Of course not, Professor! I understand how hard this must be for you. I'm just glad that you're feeling better." Hank glanced quickly down at the paper, then back up to Charles. "I should apologize too. I let my other nature win out, and I lost control. I thought I was doing better than that, but..." he shrugged.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" Charles said, once again smiling that odd smile which completely failed to light his eyes. Hank nodded in agreement, pursed his lips.

There was something not quite right in this conversation. It could have been the fact that Charles wasn't really there, of course. Hank's heightened senses were easily confused by things he could see and hear but not smell or taste, but he was getting used to that sort of confusion. This felt like something else.

"Professor, if you don't mind me asking, is there something else worrying you? Only you don't quite seem yourself."

The projection looked down to the floor, at his feet, and gave an empty sounding laugh. "Another time, perhaps. For now, why don't you tell me what you are working on? Tell me something that I can be happy about."

Hank glanced again at the papers. Charles was already in his thoughts, so there was no point in trying to keep his work a secret. He turned his papers towards the illusion. Charles could only see what Hank saw so the gesture was pointless, but he figured it implied his willingness to share.

"It's a design for a new chair," he explained, "you know, since your current one is causing problems." He ducked his head, feeling suddenly nervous.

"Hank..."

"I know you said it wasn't important," he rushed, "and that we should focus on the school, but the school is up and running now and I just really wanted to do something to help." He looked up.

He was alone again.

"Charles?" He queried, confused and more than a little concerned. It wasn't like Charles to start a conversation then just leave, even if he was just in projection form.

Being mindful not to excite the beast too much by rushing, Hank carefully gathered his papers into a pile then headed up to Charles' room.

He was maybe a dozen feet from his destination when the projection reappeared, speaking from behind him.

"Hank."

Hank span on his heel. "Charles! Is everything okay? What's going on?"

The projection was staring past him, unfocused. "I was tired. Overwhelmed, I suppose, and then when you said... What you said..."

Hank nodded his acknowledgement, but didn't move. "I wasn't going to mention it until I was done. And... Probably also until you were feeling better." He shrugged. The last thing he wanted was to restart their earlier argument, but there was something not right. He needed to see Charles, the real one, not the projection, and figure out what that something was. "Since you're awake, I should probably check the dressing."

The projection looked at him then, face blank and distant. Slowly, almost painfully, he dipped his head in a nod, then vanished.

Hank stood still for several seconds, collecting his thoughts, then turned back to open Charles' door.

The room was dark, but that was hardly a surprise. Hank's eyes were quick to adjust now, and when they did he felt his heart drop.

Charles was still in the bed, lying in almost exactly the same position that Hank had left him earlier that day. He could almost have believed that Charles had not moved in those hours, had it not been for the rest of the room.

Broken pieces of a bedside lamp formed a patina across the dresser near the window, having clearly been thrown with some force. The entire contents of Charles' bedside drawers lay strewn across the floor, and even the drawer itself had been stolen from the safety of its chest and flung half way across the room. Hank couldn't help but think of one of his own rampages, from the early days after his transformation.

But the most painful part was Charles' eyes. They were bloodshot, with the pale remnants of tear streaks falling away from them. They were full of guilt, and of grief.

Hank picked his way carefully across the chaos of a floor to crouch by Charles' bed.

"Professor?"

Charles blinked at him, pressed his lips together, opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

Hank uncurled Charles' fingers from the top of the bedspread. Purely out of habit, he pressed his own thumb over the pulse point, monitoring for any warning signs. Not that he had any shortage of those at the moment.

"Professor?" he tried again, then, "Charles?"

"What am I doing wrong?" Charles asked, in a voice so small Hank had to strain simply to make out the words.

Hank leaned back, sitting on his heels. "Is this about today? We already talked about how to minimize the risk of sores, don't you remember?"

Charles closed his eyes and turned he head in towards his pillow, far enough that half of his face was obscured. Without thinking, Hank started to stroke the back of Charles' hand, a weak attempt to offer some kind of comfort.

"Professor? Are you in pain? Do you need me to get you something?"

Charles shook his head, although in his current arrangement it looked more like nuzzling his pillow.

"Then... I'm sorry Professor, I don't understand."

After a few moments, Charles' shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. He looked out at Hank again.

"Nor do I. The school is running, students are arriving. Things should be better now, but they're not. I'm not. And I don't..." He ended his thought on another sigh. 

Still feeling utterly confused, Hank rested one hand on Charles' upper arm.

"Today was just a minor setback, Professor. Just wait a few days, things will..."

"I'm not talking about today." Charles interrupted, the sharpness partially muffled by his pillow, "I'm talking about every day. Every single day when I wake up and I have to get into the chair. I did everything I was supposed to, I found the students, I opened my house, I provided safe haven. I don't understand..."

Something stirred in the back of Hank's mind, a psychology paper he had read some months earlier. It had been about grief, and about bargaining.

"Charles, you've... achieved more than I ever would have guessed possible. But you understand that paraplegia doesn't usually, well, heal. Not really, not to the point where you would be able to get rid of the chair." As he spoke, he felt Charles' shoulders tense under his hand. He started rubbing up and down gently to soothe, but it didn't seem to achieve much. "The school, it's amazing... But it can't make you walk again."

Charles pulled his hand back in, pressed his closed fist against his mouth as though somehow he could push his distress back in again. Hank gave him a few seconds, then carefully guided Charles' hand back to lie flat between his own larger, bluer hands.

"It can't give you your legs back, but I think... Maybe it just needs to be your reason to keep getting up in the morning?"

"You mean get into the chair." Charles sounded bitter, angry, but more than anything else, tired.

"You've been focusing on everyone else for months. No one would blame you if you wanted to take some time to focus on yourself." Hank persisted. He hesitated for a few moments, unsure how his next statement would be received. "You're allowed to be angry. There's no justice in what happened to you... But sometimes justice isn't possible. Some things just can't be changed."

There was a tense minute, neither of them speaking, neither moving. Then all at once, as though a switch had been flicked, Charles broke. All tension left his body, he squeezed his eyes shut, and to Hank's alarm, a fresh tear leaked on to his cheek. His breathing turned to quiet sobs, and he pressed his face so far into his pillow that Hank was worried he might actually suffocate himself.

"Charles? It's okay. You're..." Hank remembered something that Charles had told him once, a long time ago. Something that mattered.

"You're not alone."

Hank slept beside Charles that night, under the pretense of helping him to turn on schedule. In the morning, when they woke, Hank's arm was wrapped protectively around Charles, and Charles was holding Hank's hand to his chest as though his life depended on it.

It wasn't the last time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes a decision, and some of the students start to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter. I was abroad for three weeks, and I had much less writing time than I had anticipated.

"It's his choice Hank."

Hank shook his head, denying the words even as he knew them to be true. "Maybe if you talked to him? Explained to him that he doesn't have to go, that he's still needed here."

"He knows all of that Hank, and it doesn't change his mind. It's Alex's life, and he's free to do with it what he chooses."

"But we need him here!" Hank reiterated.

Charles closed his eyes, tilting his head forward and pinching the bridge oh his nose between thumb and forefinger. The argument had been going for some time already.

"What would you have me do, Hank? Alter his thoughts, make him believe that he wants to stay here? Is that honestly what you want?"

"That's not... Why can't you just talk to him? Properly. Explain why we need him, explain what..."

Charles cut him off, curt. "It's Alex's choice, Hank, and he's made it. Leave it be."

Hank felt a growl growing in his chest, but pushed it back down, snapping his reply instead. "Leave it be? Why? This affects us as much as it does him. Was he really the one who made the decision? Or did you push him to it? Is this Raven leaving all over again? Did you tell him that was what he wanted too, like you did to her?"

There was a split second when Charles looked as though he had been physically slapped, and then his eyes narrowed and a darkness passed over his face.

"Go for a walk, Hank. Before you say something which you can't take back."

The blood was rushing in Hank's ears, and for all that the sensible part of his brain was insisting that Charles was correct, every other part was raring for a fight.

"Make me." He challenged, teeth bared.

The air itself felt tense, and for several long seconds they stared. Then Charles looked away, his body giving off all the signals of a weaker animal acknowledging the superiority of the alpha male in its pack.

After a few moments of consideration, the beast in Hank backed down, appeased, leaving Hank tired and regretful. He lowered himself to sit on the floor, crossing his long legs in front of him. Even like this, he was almost as tall as Charles in the chair.

"I don't understand." He said, quietly, elbow on his knee so that he could rest his forehead on his hand. "He's abandoning you. He's abandoning all of us, just because he got a letter saying his number came up. All you'd need to do is make one of the assessing physicians at his entry medical think there was something which would make him ineligible. Heck, Professor, you could make them forget they'd even called him up, if he just asked you."

Charles sighed, a long, thin sound which seemed to come from deep in his soul.

"I've offered, Hank, all those options and more." He began to reach for Hank's shoulder, but aborted the gesture at the last moment. He rested his hand in his lap instead. "It's Alex's choice to join the army. Sometimes people need to be given the chance to choose, even if they choose poorly. It falls to us to respect that decision, and to support him for making it."

"What about the school? We're having enough trouble finding teachers as it is without losing one of the few other adults capable of helping."

Charles looked out the plate glass windows, to the sweeping expanse of grass where, had the weather been warmer, children might have been playing. "We'll figure something out."

"But we've already had parents withdrawing their children. The war has everybody scared, wanting to keep their family close. We're offering a place where the children can be protected, but if the people who are capable of providing that protection leave then what are we supposed to do?"

Charles kept looking out of the window. "Wars don't last forever, Hank. Eventually someone always declare victory and everyone retires to lick their wounds. When that happens we'll have a second chance."

"And until then?" Hank asked, feeling horribly like he didn't want to hear Charles' reply.

"We will stay open for as long as we can, of course. As long as there are families who trust us to teach their children." This time Charles turned back. He looked melancholy, resigned. Hank shook his head.

"No, Charles. You can't just give up, not now. Not after everything. There has to be another option. Explain it to Alex again."

Charles dropped his head back until he was almost in a position to stare at the ceiling. "You said it yourself, Hank. We don't have enough staff, and we're hardly in a position to recruit. The children are leaving. A school without children isn't much of a school. Yes, I could make things different, as you say. I could manipulate the parents, steal their children away from them. I could fool teachers into thinking this was a normal school for normal children. I could do it, but even I know that would be a betrayal of everything we're trying to achieve here."

Hank almost wished for his earlier anger to come back. It would have been easier to deal with than this defeat. He leaned his shoulder against the base of the chair, rested his head just to the side of Charles' knee. When Charles started to brush his fingers through cottony blue hair, Hank didn't even put up a token protest.

Charles made a quiet humming sound. "This isn't giving up, my friend. This is... A tactical retreat."

Hank shook his head again. "I don't know if I can do it all again. Go back to the beginning, start over. I... Don't know how." He confessed, so soft it was barely a whisper. Even that wasn't enough. It didn't begin to cover this feeling of helplessness. Could he take care of Charles by himself? They were barely keeping their heads above the proverbial water already.

"And yet, that has rarely stopped either of us, has it Hank?"

Hank wished those words held more comfort than they did.

\------------------------------

Alex's farewell was an awkward, confusing affair. Several of the children hugged him, and two girls who had been particularly taken with him as their teacher went to the trouble of singing him a farewell song. Even Charles engaged Alex in a long, heartfelt embrace.

When if came to Hank though, they kept their distance, opting simply to exchange nods. It seemed that they both knew that any words spoken between the two of them would have degraded into a fight, and neither wanted the departure to be thus tainted.

So for Hank, Alex's farewell had almost been a non-event, which may have been why the more low-key farewell to two students a few weeks later hit him so hard.

Sophia lifted her arms in a familiar gesture, her camouflage scales various shades of green-grey as she ran over the grass and gravel where Hank saw standing. Without thinking, Hank lifted her up and settled her on his hip.

"Hey there little one. Are you excited to be going home?"

To his surprise, Sophia immediately shook her head then buried her face into the fur on his shoulder. He patted her back awkwardly, being as gentle as he could.

"Hey now, what's wrong?"

"Don' wanna go." came her muffled reply, and Hank was even more alarmed to realize that she was crying into his fur. "'m scared."

"But it's you home. There's nothing to be scared of there."

"Monsters." She declared, in a tone that brooked no argument. Hank rearranged her on his hip so that he could see her face, and she peered out at him with hooded eyelids. He tried to look sympathetic.

He was never too clear as to whether he was supposed to try and dissuade her from her belief in monsters, or simply reduce their associated fear. "The monsters know that I am your friend, little one. They won't touch you." He reassured. 

She shook her head, making a mess of both her own hair and Hank's in the process. "Not that kind of monster. The other kind. The kind that you're scared of too."

Hank furrowed his brow. "I'm not scared of monsters." he replied.

"Yes you are." She countered. "That's why you don't leave the school ever at all. Because the monsters will get you. And now they're going to get me because I have to leave the school."

"Oh, little one, no. That's not..." He hesitated, because the truth here was much worse than monsters. Hank was afraid of what normal, everyday people would do to him if he were discovered. In all honesty, Sophia had every right to fear them as well, and for exactly the same reason.

He was saved at that moment by Sophia's parents and elder brother coming over to collect her. Hank had to give her parents some credit, they controlled their alarm at seeing their fragile little girl in the arms of a huge clawed monster very well.

Hank smiled back at his little charge, then spoke loudly enough for her family to hear. "I'm quite certain your mother and father are experts at keeping monsters away. You will be quite safe, I am sure."

Sophia huffed her disagreement, but reluctantly loosened her grip so that he could pass her into her father's arms.

Looking at her then, he felt a sudden jolt of shock. In the minutes she had been with him, her scales had shifted their hue to match his own familiar, brilliant blue. When she turned her head away it was, for a moment, as though he was looking at a miniature Raven Darkholme.

Then that moment passed. The little girl and her brother were bundled into a small yellow car and driven away.

Hank spent the evening on the large flat rock down by the lake, watching the sunset. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved that no one joined him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles decides that alcohol and prescription medication make a good combination. Hank deals with the consequences.

Hank gave himself a full thirty seconds to panic.

He hadn't been anticipating needing to panic at all. He thought he was just dropping in to check on the Professor after dinner to make sure he didn't need anything.

Charles had been complaining of progressively worsening migraines for almost a week. They were far from uncommon at this point, especially when Charles was tired or had been stretching his powers, so Hank was well practiced in pain management. That morning Hank had set his friend up with water and some pretty strong pain killers, then headed out to cover the Professor's classes.

He came back in the late evening to check in, and found more than ample reason to panic.

The smell hit him as soon as he stepped into the corridor. He wouldn't have needed enhanced senses to identify strong alcohol mixed with vomit. Really, by the time he made it into the room and found Charles completely still, eyes closed, barely breathing, thirty seconds of panic hardly seemed to cover it.

But the thirty seconds passed, and rational Hank reasserted himself. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then went to check on him.

It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened. Painkillers and alcohol were both chemical depressants. When mixed together, they were more than capable of making a mess of even the healthiest body.

Charles breathing was slow and shallow, his skin was cold and clammy, but at least his airway was unobstructed. Hank tried for a response, tapping his alarmingly pale cheek, squeezing his hand, speaking loudly, but got no answer. He took a step back to consider his options.

He didn't have many. While the house was more than amply supplied for first aid, Hank had no way of knowing how much alcohol was in the Professor's system or how it would continue to affect him. It was always possible that the worst was already over, but they had seldom been that lucky. Hank was not willing to risk it.

Charles needed to be in a hospital. Soon. Hank briefly considered squeezing him into a car and driving them both there himself, but it was critical to everyone's safety that Hank not be seen by outsiders. He would have done it for Charles, except that he was quite certain that in the inevitable commotion caused by a giant blue beast in an emergency room he would cause more harm than good.

He could take one of the children along, have them take Charles in... But the oldest of the remaining students was barely 15, and she had a highly visible mutation of her own. That was not going to work.

Which left Hank with only one other option.

He quickly checked Charles over again, confirming that they still had time, then went back down to the main living area as quickly and calmly as he could.

The three students who hadn't yet been withdrawn were still sitting around, playing some kind of card game which seemed to revolve around speed more than logic. Hank had never bothered to learn the rules.

"Children, listen carefully. Everything is going to be fine, but I need you all to go up to your rooms right away. Close the doors and turn off all the lights. Do not come out, do not turn on any lights, don't even make a sound until I come back to tell you that it's safe."

The children looked understandably alarmed, but nodded solemnly, standing without even thinking of packing up their game.

"What's happening, Mr McCoy?" The youngest asked, his eyes dark and wide. Hank pursed his lips, then crouched down.

"We're going to have some outsiders coming by soon. They don't mean any of us any harm and they aren't going to hurt you, but they don't understand about mutations, so it might be dangerous for them to see us."

The boy's eyes welled up with quiet and fearful tears.

"But why do we need to turn the lights off?"

Hank tried to give a reassuring impression, but it felt fake. With good reason.

"If they think there are people in the house then they will want to come in and speak with us. We have to make them think that the house is empty." Without consciously meaning to, he glanced back towards Charles' room then down at his watch. Three minutes already. "Quickly now, we don't have a lot of time."

The children nodded again, walking with nervous but practiced efficiency up to their rooms. 

Hank picked up the telephone handset and called for an ambulance. He explained about Charles' symptoms, his diagnosis, his various underlying medical challenges. He gave the address, detailed instructions on how to get to their isolated street, how to open the gate and directions up the long drive to the house. When they asked for Hank's details though, he carefully hung up the phone.

He bundled Charles up in as many clean blankets as he could find on short notice, then took him out to the front steps to wait.

\--------------------

It wasn't raining, at least. The wind bit at the exposed skin of his hands and face, all the while picking leaves from the trees and blowing them in spinning whirls over the gravel of the driveway. Hank held Charles' prone form a little closer, hunching over him to protect what little of his pale skin was still exposed.

"They'll be here soon, Charles. Only a few minutes. Everything's going to be fine." He muttered, his words repeating in loops like a mantra.

Charles wasn't going to respond, not in his current state. The half dozen blankets which Hank had wrapped around him were enough to keep him warm, but when Hank brushed his hand over his teacher's clammy forehead, he could tell how cold he still was. 

"Any minute now. When they arrive, I'll..." Hank paused, took a deep breath, listened again for the sound of an ambulance arriving, the creak of the main gate or the grind and scratch of gravel under tires. None of those were evident, only the sound of the wild wind in the trees. "When they arrive I'll have to go inside, but you'll only be alone for a few minutes. I won't leave you alone for any longer than absolutely necessary."

He checked Charles' pulse again. He had lost count of how many times he'd done that now. It was still there, weak and slow, but persistent. He moved his hand back up to cup the Professor's cheek, protecting him from the ice in the air.

If there was one thing Hank's fur was good at, it was warming.

He spared a glance up to the children's windows. The curtains were hanging quite still, and the lights off. To any casual observer the rooms could just as easily be unoccupied. Just as well.

"The children are fine." He said, talking to Charles more to ground himself than with any expectation of a response. "You'll be fine too, they'll take you to the hospital. I know you don't like hospitals, I understand that, but this is too much for me. You told me once that if there was anything that was too much for me that I should tell you and we'd get help, so..." He trailed away, checking for a pulse again.

Hank's head whipped up. There was a sound, the strain of metal on metal as the large gate opened, accompanied by the mechanical purr of an engine. He looked back down at Charles, suddenly torn.

"I can't be seen. You understand, don't you? If they saw me, they might not even stay long enough to help you. I couldn't bear that. So I have to go inside now, but they're close, they're really close, and they'll take care of you. I'm sorry, Charles, I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something more."

His hands were shaking as he moved the limp form from his lap to the front step, bundling a length of loose blanket into a pillow. Then he stood up.

And didn't move.

He knew he had to go, to hide before he ruined everything that he and Charles had worked for, but Charles was lying pale and unconcious on the step and he just... His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't walk away.

He tasted a metalic tang, and it took a few seconds to realize it was because he had bitten through his own lip. The taste of blood was unexpectedly grounding. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment while he turned around, then made a run for the house.

It was only a few seconds after the door closed that he heard the sounds of the ambulance pulling around the final corner to the front of the house. With his heart beating so loudly that he was sure even the children upstairs would be able to hear it, he ducked into the cloak room and pressed himself back behind the coats that always hung there.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together so hard that he was pretty sure his lip was going to start bleeding again. Part of him wanted to go right back out there, to growl at any stranger who dared approach Charles, and to protect the children which had become his pack... But he clung to the rational part of himself and forced down everything else. 

He tucked his knees up to his chest and curled his head in, hands clasped in his hair. It would do nothing to hide him if anyone were actually looking, but in the absence of a fight instinct, he had to appease the pressure to flee.

There was a knock. Then another. 

The rapping on the main door echoed heavily through the house, the huge empty spaces amplifying it beyond all reason. Hank spared a thought for the children upstairs. He hoped that they would follow instructions and stay put, even though they were probably even more fearful than he was himself.

Someone outside, probably the one knocking, yelled something through the door. Between the walls and the coats though, Hank couldn't make out the words. He curled up tighter.

It wasn't long after when he heard the sound of an ambulance door being shut, and the ever more distant sound of the engine as it drove away. It felt like hours.

Hank sat there, the sound of his own heartbeat and shaky breaths all there was in that space, for so long that he would not have been surprised if he had emerged from the coatroom into to daylight. But when he did eventually emerge it was still dark, and the drive was empty.

He jumped, the sudden sound of the clock chiming out the hour, and then was doubly surprised to discover that it was only just now turning nine pm.

He knew he ought to go and reassure the students, but he only made it a few feet before he caught his reflection in one of the large, ornate mirrors in the hall.

He hesitated, then touched a tentative fingertip to his face. There were dark trails of damp fur tracking down his face. Tear tracks. His eyes were red rimmed.

He didn't remember crying, but the evidence was there plain to see. He felt suddenly, bone crushingly exhausted.

He couldn't go to the students like this. He would probably cause them even more distress, showing up looking half dead and with his face tear stained. So he changed direction, walked to Charles' room instead.

It would need to be cleaned, thoroughly. More than he could do tonight. He took a clean blanket from the chest of drawers and carried it back down to the living area, where the remains of the children's evening games still cluttered the table.

He curled up on the too-small sofa. The blanket smelled a little bit of Charles, and that was more soothing than it ought to be.

Hank fell into a restless sleep. 

\-----------------------------

By the time Charles was discharged from the hospital a few days later, recovered but shamefaced, and swearing off the drink, the last of students had been withdrawn from the school.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is having trouble sleeping again.

"Hank."

Hank startled at the sudden sound. No, not sound... Thought.

He was alone in the lab, it had been a thought from Charles.

He felt momentarily sheepish, Charles' summons wouldn't normally have startled him, if not for the fact that he had been nodding off at the laboratory workbench. He blinked a few times quickly to clear his head, then thought back at Charles the way he had been taught.

"Professor, I thought you were already asleep."

Charles had been in a mood all morning, almost snappish in asserting his independence... But he wouldn't have contacted Hank so late for nothing, so Hank ventured further, "Is there something you need?"

Hank could sense Charles' silence. It was a crowded sort of silence, as though there was someone else in the room watching him without making a sound.

"I... need your help. Would you mind?" Charles's words faded with a hint of something which felt distressing in a way which Hank couldn't quite put a name to. He glanced quickly around at the lab. His work was several hours from complete, but he could hardly feel irritated at being asked to pause it when he had already been so close to falling asleep.

"Of course, I'll be right up."

Charles' room was on the ground floor, the only sensible option given that wheelchair access in the old house was poor at best, so it took less than a minute for Hank to bound up from the basement labs.

The bedroom was dark, and Hank stood in the doorway for several moments waiting for his eyes to adjust. The light from the hallway cast a monstrous silhouette on the floor, but Hank had long ago grown accustomed to his shadow.

In the poor light and with his head hung low, Charles looked like little more than a pale smear against the massive dark bed. As Hank's eyes adjusted to the low light, he became aware of just how deathly still Charles was.

"Charles?" he asked, wondering what had caused that distressing feeling from his friend only a minute or so earlier. Charles eyes were distant, and he looked up at Hank like he was surprised to have company.

"Hank?"

Hank furrowed his brows in confusion, stepping into the room and moving to Charles' bedside.

"Yes. You asked me to come." He waited a moment, hoping for some sign of recognition from Charles. When none was forthcoming, he reminded him instead. "You said you needed help with something."

Charles' eyes seemed to clear at that, seconds before he averted his gaze.

"I did. I..." Charles took a deep breath, staring down at nothing again with that same eery stillness. A few moments later he composed himself, and looked back at Hank. "Would you mind getting me a glass of water?" he asked, smiling a weak imitation of an apology.

Without thinking Hank glanced at the still full glass of water sitting on Charles' bedside table. Charles' smile faltered as his own eyes followed Hank's line of sight, but made no comment. Probably hoping that Hank wouldn't call him on the obvious lie.

It was a safe bet, Hank had no intention of challenging Charles on something so trivial.

"Of course. I'll be right back."

Charles' reflection in the mirror caught Hank's attention as he turned away. The man all but sank back into the pillows, pressing his hand to his mouth in a physical attempt to keep sound in. Hank wanted to stop, to turn around and sit by the bed and demand that Charles tell him what was going on. He wanted to, but he didn't. 

He was almost in the hallway when Charles spoke.

"Hank, wait."

The words sounded almost strangled, and the hand Charles had been holding to his mouth was shaking. "That's not why I called you. I'm sorry. That was..."

The room was heavily, oppressively silent, but Hank said nothing.

"Would you stay with me tonight?" Charles' words came out in a whisper, followed immediately by a very different type of silence. Hank blinked, trying to make sense of the request.

"Is everything okay, Professor? Are you in pain? I can find you something for the pain if..."

Charles interrupted with a stammer of a chuckle. "I'm pretty sure they don't make prescriptions for this."

"For what? You're... Charles, you're being a little bit scary right now."

Charles pressed his lips together, taking a short huffing breath.

"There are too many thoughts. I don't want to have them, but I'm having trouble making them stop."

Hank relaxed a little at that, moving back to crouch by Charles' bed once more. "Your telepathy is playing up?" he asked, stroking away the flicks of hair which insisted on falling over Charles' eyes when he ducked his head, "That's okay, it happens every now and then. You just need to give it time, it always passes."

Charles shook his head. "No, that's not it. It's not telepathy. These aren't someone else's thoughts. These are my own. I can't tune out my own thoughts, Hank, and they just keep coming back. Over and over again."

Hank's heart ached in sympathy. He dropped out of his crouch to rest on his heels by the bed, and took Charles' hand in his own. The pale fingers were entirely engulfed by blue, but for once Hank found the image soothing.

"The beach again?" he asked. It had been years since the last time the household had woken from their dreams screaming and clutching at the smalls of their backs. It had taken years for those memories to dim this far, but Hank knew that sometimes nightmares just went dormant, waiting for the right stressor to bring them raging back.

The professor shook his head though. "No, my friend, not the beach. That's a memory, it's in the past."

"Then what?"

"I'm sorry Hank, I cannot."

Hank squeezed Charles' hand gently. "Can't what?"

"I can't tell you."

"Because it's a secret? Something personal?"

"Because if I say it, then you will know. And that will make it too real."

For several minutes no one said anything. The air was tense, almost humming. Then Hank made a bold decision. A gamble.

"I'll stay with you. Of course I'll stay with you, if that's what you need. But..." He paused to build up his courage. "I need to know what's upsetting you. Whatever it is Charles, we can figure it out between the two of us, I promise, but I can find a solution if I don't have all the data."

For the first time since admitting his lie about the water, Charles looked Hank in the eye. With desperation.

"You can't possibly understand, Hank. There are simply not the words to describe..."

"Then don't use words," Hank countered. He took Charles' small, pale hand and guided it up to touch Hank's temple. "Show me."

For a moment Hank thought that Charles was going to refuse. He wouldn't have been surprised, but he was ready to be disappointed...

Until his whole world disappeared in a deluge of images, memories, feelings. Horrifying thoughts, soul destroying thoughts, lonely thoughts, thoughts of a world without Charles in it. Images of dying, of ceasing to be. Clouds of guilt, for Raven, for Erik, for Hank. Violent images, passive images, peacefulness and horror braided together until Hank (Charles?) couldn't tell where one thing finished and another ended.

And through it all, a common thread. A plea.

_Make it stop._

Hank sucked in a breath. His chest ached, and he wasn't sure whether it was from a lack of oxygen or from what he just saw. He felt the tickle of a tear tracking through the silk hair of his face, and looked to Charles expecting to see the same.

But Charles' eyes were dry, his face passive as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Because this was nothing out of the ordinary for him.

Hank took another deep breath, calming himself. This would be a bad time for his more monstrous qualities to come out. He stood carefully, still feeling dizzy from his experience of Charles' mind, then walked to the far side of the bed. He crawled under the comforter and slid across until he was close enough to wrap an arm over Charles' middle.

"Is this okay?" he asked cautiously.

Charles nodded.

"We'll make this better. I'll find a way to make this better. I promise."

Hank waited for some response, but none was forthcoming. Eventually he felt Charles' body go lax with sleep, leaving him alone with thoughts of loss, grief, and the possibility of some dramatic changes to the serum he had been working on mere hours earlier. 

He _would_ find a way to make this better.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has created a serum which has huge implications.

The door was no more than a few feet away, and it was open. There was no way that Charles was still oblivious to Hank's presence was in the hall, and yet Hank couldn't bring himself to take those last few steps.

"Hank?" The sound of Charles' voice shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it startled Hank even so. He couldn't quite tell whether the word had come from inside the room or arrived telepathically in his own head. It really matter though.

He leaned against the wall and let his head drop back until he was all but staring at the ceiling. "Charles," he replied, and he was relieved that his voice still sounded mostly level, "there's something I need to show you, but..."

His words trailed away, unable to fully articulate the maelstrom of thoughts in his head. He slid down the wall until his was sitting on the ground, then raised his hands to eye level and inspected them for about the hundredth time in the past hour. They were still small, pale, and most importantly, furless.

He felt a gentle push on the surface of his thoughts. It was something between "go on", and "I'm listening". Part of Hank wished that Charles would just deep dive into his thoughts to save him the pain of explanation, but of course this one time Charles decided to exhibit self restraint.

"I need to explain first." he continued. "I need you to understand. I still believe all of it. I'm not ashamed of what I am, what we are. We're mutants, and that's okay, this has nothing to do with that, it's just," he sighed, "it's a matter of practicality, I suppose. I need to be able to go outside sometimes. I need to be able to go into a shop and buy us food. I... I miss just being able to sit in a park, or a movie theatre, with other people around. When I'm blue, I can't do those things. I didn't know what else to do."

At some point Hank must have closed his eyes, although he couldn't quite remember when. He opened them slowly now, with a feeling of inevitability.

Charles was sitting in his chair immediately in front of him, head cocked to one side. His expression was... Complicated. Not for the first time, Hank wished he was even half as good at reading people as he was textbooks. If he had to guess, he would have said that Charles looked sad, but there was a painful gentleness there which made Hank's chest ache with guilt.

Charles reached out to brush his fingers through Hank's hair.

His now very brown hair.

Hank closed his eyes again, then rested his forehead on his drawn up knees. He made a conscious effort not to start crying, but it was only dubiously effective.

"Hank?" Charles asked again, still gently petting and occasionally tracing down and around the shell of his ear. "You don't need to apologize, or to justify yourself to me. You have every right to feel comfortable in your own body... If this is what makes you happy, then I am happy for you."

Charles' rested his hand on Hank's shoulder, then slid it down to cover his bicep, a gentle tug indicating his intention. Hank lifted his arm obligingly and Charles took his hand, examining the now smooth fingers. The shirt Hank was wearing was several sizes too large for his smaller body, and the sleeve bunched up around his shoulder.

"It's not permanent." Hank mumbled, his face still mostly obscured.

He was pretty sure Charles would hear him even if he hadn't opened his mouth at this point. He could feel the tentative presence around the edges of his thoughts, watching for stray emotions. "It's a serum. It needs to be injected every eight hours or so to maintain effectiveness. And I can... If I need to, I can make myself change back before then. This is just a way of being, of having..." He sighed.

"Freedom?" Charles supplied. Hank was pretty sure that was sympathy he was hearing now. Hank nodded, the guilt causing him physical pain.

There was silence then, for long enough that it was socially awkward. Eventually, Charles spoke again.

" _Is_ this what you need to be happy, Hank?"

Hank became aware that he was almost shaking with the effort of not crying. He sucked in a deep breath, and nodded. 

"I think so."

"Then you have done well, and I am happy for you."

Hank looked up, confused and expecting deception or manipulation. He couldn't find anything though, Charles just kept on smiling that same sad, distant smile.

"Hank, I know I used to act like I knew what was best for everyone, but all I ever seem to do is hurt you. I keep on hurting you again and again, without even realizing I'm doing it. I am so very sorry if I made you feel as though what you wanted for yourself was wrong." Charles sighed too then, a bone weary thing which made Hank's chest hurt in sympathy.

Charles looked away. "But I think this is not the place for trying conversations such as these. Would you join me in the living room, and you can explain to me how you have made this work? It has been far too long since we discussed science, and I wonder if we both might benefit from a cup of tea?"

Hank nodded and rose, glad to have an instruction to follow. He took the handles of Charles' chair out of habit. Charles didn't even offer a token protest.

\-------------------------------------

"If anything, I suppose it makes me a hypocrite."

Hank looked up from the steaming cup. He didn't really want to drink the tea, but Charles seemed to treat the act of holding the cup as symbolic. Not that Hank minded, not really. This was one thing he could do right for his friend.

"I don't understand what you mean, Charles."

"I spent so long telling you that you to accept what you had become, to accept your mutation as a part of you, yet all the while I've been here, raging over my own limitations. I'm a hypocrite, Hank, and you have borne the brunt of my hypocrisy."

For all the sorry that he was feeling for himself, Hank wasn't oblivious. He could still see the start of one of Charles' downward emotional spirals when it was presented so clearly. They normally started with some kind of self-recrimination, and ended with three day long stints locked in his bedroom staring at blank walls and refusing to eat. Charles was already dangerously underweight.

Drawing from some deep reserve that Hank wasn't sure he still had left, he tried to soothe his friend before they got that far.

"It is different though, remember? What happened to me was my own..."

"Dammit, Hank" Charles snapped, "Stop trying to blame yourself for every single problem."

Hank's his muscles tensed automatically, and they stared at each other for several moments. Part of him wanted to throw Charles' words right back in his face, to point out that Charles was spending half his life punishing himself for things that weren't his own damn fault, but that part of himself was at war with the part which wanted to run away and hide and try to remember a time when he had been happy.

Charles broke the stare first, exhaling loudly then chuckling an amused and only slightly self-deprecating laugh.

"Like I said, a hypocrite. I'm sorry, Hank."

Hank ducked his head, wondering if Charles had heard his thoughts or whether he had drawn the same conclusion independently.

"You're forgiven." Hank offered softly. "You know you're always forgiven, for whatever it is you think you've done wrong."

They were silent then, Hank couldn't say for how long. When he looked up, Charles was studying him carefully.

"How long has it been since you last slept, my young friend?"

Hank blinked and tried to think. It was harder than it should have been, which probably wasn't a good indicator. He shrugged.

"I'm not sure. What day is it?"

Charles laughed out loud then, and even as exhausted as Hank was, he smiled.

"If you must ask that question, then I can safely assume it has been too long. Here," Charles relocated a cushion from the space between them to his own lap, then gestured for Hank to rest his head there.

Hank raised an eyebrow in surprised. He was well past any embarrassment over sleeping in the presence of his friend, it had happened all too often, on those difficult nights. But this felt different.

"What if I fall asleep? You'll be stuck here until you wake up."

"Luckily, I can't think of a better place to wait. Don't worry Hank, if I need to move then I'll wake you, but I have no other plans today. Please, rest. Let me take care of you this one time."

The invitation was too tempting to turn down. He drew his legs up to the couch and rested his head cautiously on the cushion, mindful of not putting too much pressure on any one point of Charles' legs. When he closed his eyes, he felt a powerful, almost overwhelming wave of exhaustion come over him. He resisted though, because there was still something he needed to explain.

"The serum," he continued, suppressing a yawn. "It works by... _Retargeting_ , I suppose would be the right word. It retargets the X gene. That gene is already unstable, that's why its presentation varies so wildly from person to person, everything from telepathy to huge feet. The instability is easy to trigger, and then it's a matter of controlling what form it stabilizes back in to. Just got to make sure it stabilizes in a way that helps."

"Mmm hmm..." Was Charles only verbal response, although he did start stroking Hank's hair again in that soporific way. Hank got the feeling that Charles was humoring him, just waiting him out until he fell asleep.

"I think, maybe, it could work for you too."

The hand stilled in Hank's hair for several seconds at that. When the motion started again, it seemed far more cautious. Hank continued, wanting to get the words out before Charles could challenge him on them.

"I don't mean that you'll be able to walk normally again, that's probably going too far and it would require a huge amount of control, but sensation? Maybe some limited movement? I think that's completely possible. And you won't lose your telepathy outright, my mutation is still there, it's just repressed, so as long as I don't overdo the serum I can still change back if I need to. It would be the same for you. You'd probably lose some strength at long ranges, I'm not sure, but..." He trailed off, his short burst of energy suddenly running low.

Neither spoke for several moments, then, "What would happen if I did overdo the serum?". He sounded almost guarded in the question. "Would my abilities go completely? Would I be able to walk then?"

Hank opened his eyes. He suddenly felt a lot less restful.

"I'm not sure, Professor... But don't worry. I wouldn't let you accidentally overdose. We can start out small, then work our way up until we find a good balance. It would take some time..." He trailed off again.

There was a heavy silence for several minutes, neither one of them moving. Then Charles returned to brushing fingers through Hank's hair.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Hank queried, not sure how to interpret the word.

"Okay. We should try it. But not right away. It can wait after you've rested."

"Good. That's... Good. We can start some controlled trials." Hank felt an unexpected smile creeping over his face. It felt nice. "I told you we could find a way to make things better, didn't I?"

Hank could hear the smile in Charles' words; "You certainly did, my friend. You certainly did."

\-------------------------------

Almost a month later, Charles successfully managed to wriggle his toes. He rewarded Hank with a laugh so carelessly happy that Hank thought it might have been the nicest thing he'd ever heard. If he had ever doubted his decision to make the serum, those doubts were now a million miles away.

This was the right thing to do. 

They were going to be just fine.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of DoFP, Hank and Charles have their first honest conversation in a long time. A conversation about choices, and mistakes, and where to go from here.

Charles knew that he ought to feel vulnerable, lying on his bed wearing nothing more than a shirt and his underthings.

He could see Hank clear as day, removing the stitches that he had also been responsible for putting in, repairing the kind of damage caused by stadiums dropping from a great height. But what he saw didn't reconcile with what his nervous system was reporting. He couldn't feel a thing Hank was doing. His legs were as numb as they had been before, and this time, they really would stay that way.

That ought to make him feel vulnerable, but it didn't. The strongest feeling right at that moment was of warmly remembered safety. It was hard to feel vulnerable when it was so evident how carefully he was being cared for.

He wished Hank could feel that peace and safety too. His young carer deserved that more than anyone, but instead Hank was a tangle of emotions so complicated and draining that it made Charles want to wince in sympathy. The young man hid it well though. Under the influence of the serum, he would almost certainly have thought Hank quite calm and collected.

Charles wondered when Hank had learned to hide himself so effectively, then forced that train of thought to a hard stop. He was pretty sure that was one question he didn't want to know the answer to.

"I should apologize." Hank said, breaking the silence.

It was... Unexpected. It took several moments for Charles to fully comprehend the words. Hank wasn't looking at him, focusing on replacing the protective dressing over the well healing scar and giving Charles the chance to consider his response.

"May I ask what you feel you ought to apologize for?" Charles hedged, having weighed up several options. Hank sighed, deflating like a hot air balloon.

"Ten years." He pressed his lips together, exhibiting the exact same nervous habit the Charles recognized from a decade before, then took a deep breath. He still didn't look up. "A complete stranger was able to bring you back into the world after just a couple of days. I had years, and all I ever managed to do was... Well." He stopped there, the implication clear.

Charles' thought about reaching out, wrapping an arm around Hank's shoulders and pulling him into an embrace, but the man was radiating tension. This was not yet the time.

"Sometimes I think you carry the world on your shoulders, Hank." He answered, gently. "You did nothing wrong, you have to know that."

"I should have said something earlier. Or done something. Taken some responsibility for my actions."

Charles couldn't help but laugh at that, gentle and sympathetic, but amused even so. "Oh Hank, you may be the single most responsible person I've ever met. You have spent far too many years being responsible for me, when by rights it was I who should have been responsible for you." He warmed his voice further then, knowing that the next part would be difficult for Hank to hear. "Your anger is misplaced, my friend. You mustn't blame yourself for my mistakes. If there is any one person in this room who should claim guilt, it is most certainly myself."

"But," Hank argued, and then stopped. He seemed to compose himself, then looked directly at Charles for the first time since they had begun speaking. "I don't understand what I did wrong. What I ought to have done differently."

Charles reached out again then, fingers wrapping around Hank's hand and drawing it a few inches closer. He didn't pull him in fully, not yet, but it was a start.

"You did nothing wrong Hank. Sometimes people need to be allowed to make a choice. And even if it is the wrong choice, sometimes all you can do is support them until they figure that out."

"You said the same thing about Alex, and he's in a war zone now." Hank replied, ever so slightly curt. Clearly that particular betrayal still stung.

"You gave me a choice." Charles persisted. "You gave me the chance to choose between hiding who I was and walking, or accepting the truth of who I was. And I made the wrong choice. But at least I had the chance to make it."

He observed Hank for a few moments. It was clear that Hank wasn't buying it. Charles sighed, and tried a different tack. "If you had not been here, doing exactly what you were doing, I would be dead. I would have died a hundred times over. I would have lost my life to drink, to drugs, to the pistol in my drawer. You kept me alive, even when I was doing everything in my power to make your life difficult. You kept me here long enough to realize my mistake for what it was."

"But if I..."

"Hank," Charles interrupted, "no. My mistakes were my own to make. If you had forced the issue, I would have rejected it. And probably also you." He sighed. "Tell me, honestly, did you ever do anything that you believed was not in my best interests?"

Hank looked almost shocked at the thought. "Of course not, but..."

"And did you ever do anything that might have caused me harm, or put me in a dangerous situation?"

"No."

"And when you made decisions, were you ever motivated by anything other than love and concern?"

This time Hank didn't answer, but his silence was just a manifestation of his instinct to cling to guilt. That would pass, in time. Charles twined his fingers between Hank's, and was please to find no resistance.

"That's not it though, is it? There's something else?" He probed gently. It wasn't a guess, not really. He could sense Hank's reticence, the feeling of dishonesty by omission. For the briefest moment Charles thought he felt Hank's grip tighten around his hand, but then it was gone.

"I destroyed the serum." He said. It was barely more than a whisper, but the words felt like they echoed through the room.

Also unexpected, Hank was clearly doing everything in his power to throw Charles off balance. "Do you mean the variant you made for me?" he asked carefully. He suspected he already knew the answer.

"I mean all of it. The variant for you, the one for me. All the records about how I made it. All of it. Every last trace."

This time Charles did squeeze Hank's hand, trusting that his question would be understood without being spoken aloud. Hank turned to look out of the window, but did not loose himself from Charles' grip.

"We'll have to find a way to get food delivered again, or maybe when you're feeling better you can go shopping. I won't be able to leave the house again for a while. Probably a long while. Maybe never."

Neither man said anything for several minutes. Silently, Charles rubbed a thumb against the pulse point of Hank's wrist.

"Please don't sacrifice your happiness for me. Not again. I couldn't bear it."

The heavy silence returned, even more oppressive than before, then Hank looked back at Charles. Really looked, as though that alone could make Charles understand.

"I wanted you to stop taking it for years, you know. I wanted it so much, but all the while I kept justifying why I had to keep taking it myself. So maybe destroying it is a mistake. Maybe taking the serum for the past five years was the mistake. I don't know. But I think... Maybe this is my choice? Maybe this the moment where I have to make that choice."

Charles held for several seconds before he exhaled and gave in to his earlier impulse. He tugged gently on Hank's hand until he unfolded from his sitting position to lay beside Charles on the bed. Charles wrapped one arm around him and pressed their foreheads together. "Then I'll support you, mistake or no."

Eventually, Hank replied "Thank you," although Charles had a suspicion that no words had passed his lips. Hank had clearly remembered how to project his thoughts. Charles smiled.

"If I may be honest, I'm a little relieved. I thought maybe you might choose to leave. I wouldn't have stopped you, I've learned that lesson, but... I don't know how to do this without you."

Hank looked momentarily embarrassed. "It'll only take a little while before you're used to the chair again. You'll be independent again in no time, you've already done this once before."

"Perhaps," Charles acquiesced, "but once the children start arriving I'm going to need at least one responsible adult in the house."

Hank stilled. "Children?"

"Well this is a school, is it not? And it occurs to me that there are a great many mutant children of school age who are still too young to be drafted." Charles watched Hank carefully. "What do you think?"

Hank looked pensive. "I'll have to fix the sign on the gate, it fell down a while ago. But I think I can manage that."

"Then it's settled. Tomorrow we fix the sign. And then, I suppose, we shall just have to see what remains to be done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! Thank you to all the people who kept coming back, even through the long gaps of time when chapters refused to do what they were supposed to. :)


End file.
